


Penance

by bloodstonepentagram



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 13:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14521746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodstonepentagram/pseuds/bloodstonepentagram
Summary: Struck with guilt after spending the night with Flambeau, Father Brown seeks atonement.





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the 2013 TV show, but I took some inspiration for the way that Father Brown and Flambeau's relationship might eventually play out from the original G. K. Chesterton books.

Father Brown felt impossibly conspicuous walking into St. George’s Church in his civilian jumper, but he was fairly certain that the young new priest here didn’t know him well enough to recognize his voice, which was more than could be said for any of the other parishes that were within a short train ride’s proximity to Kembleford. Perhaps it invalidated the confession he was about to give, being ready to lie by omission before he even set foot in the confessional, but everyone was entitled to some degree of privacy in these matters, and there were some things that Father Brown, vain though it might be, was not willing to have his colleagues know about him.

Fortunately, it seemed the Saturday morning confessions were proceeding on their usual schedule; more than could be said for St. Mary’s, Father Brown thought with a pang of guilt. He was going to have to come up with a reason to give Mrs. McCarthy for why he’d called her so early in the morning and asked her to post an emergency cancellation notice. Lies on top of lies.

Father Brown genuflected and knelt in the front pew to wait his turn, which was soon to come. Only a couple people were here this early in the morning, an old man and a young woman. Father Brown kept his head bowed and resisted his natural urge to examine them more closely.

He focused on praying, trying not to dwell on what had happened or over-rehearse his confession.

Finally, it was his turn.

He hadn’t felt such weight walking into the confessional in a long time.

As he knelt, he had a sudden wild impulse to disguise his voice. He dismissed it. He wasn’t built for guile, and the attempt would only draw attention to itself and make the other priest more likely to remember him.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Father Brown began. “It’s been…” 

He had to take a moment to remember. He tried to keep his confessions fairly regular, but very rarely did he have anything of real note to confess.

“...two months since my last confession.”

The priest on the other side of the screen waited silently while Father Brown collected his thoughts.

“I have committed an act of...fornication,” Father Brown said, feeling the weight of his guilt anew as he said it aloud for the first time. “I allowed myself to be seduced, and gave into lustful acts.”

“I take it this woman was not your wife?”

Father Brown wondered if he should correct the assumption, but he didn’t. After all, he rationalized, if he were to say it was a man he had slept with, then the object of the confession would turn to sodomy, and that was not what weighed on his conscience. Nor, strangely, was the fact that he had broken his vows. 

“No,” said Father Brown. “I suppose you could say we’re friends, of a sort. I was hoping to help this person, but now I’m afraid I may have proven myself to be a moralizing hypocrite.”

“Well,” said the priest, “the flesh is weak, and many men fall prey to seduction.”

“I fear I’m also guilty of the sin of pride,” Father Brown said, feeling his guts twist. 

“In what way?”

“I...am not an attractive man,” Father Brown said, feeling his cheeks burning. “It should have been obvious to me that this was a ploy, but I allowed myself to believe that…this friend was without ulterior motive.”

“Being lied to is not a sin,” interrupted the other priest with something like pity, or maybe even compassion, in his voice. “Is there anything else you wish to confess?”

“No,” Father Brown said, “I suppose there isn’t.”

The young priest led Father Brown through the prayer.

“For your penance,” said the priest, “I want you to say one rosary. And I also want you to confront this woman and tell her that it will not happen again. Will you do this?”

Father Brown had already know it had to be done, but now his redemption was on the line.

“In the future, I suggest you avoid being alone with this woman,” the priest continued. “If you must see her in private, perhaps have a chaperone present.”

Father Brown doubted very much whether Mrs. McCarthy would like to be asked to chaperone that particular meeting.

“Thank you, Father,” he said quietly.

“For these and all your sins, you are forgiven. Go forth and sin no more.”

Father Brown made his way back to the train station feeling no lighter than he had when he’d left it.

xxx

When Flambeau woke and found Father Brown gone, he could only assume there was some sort of priestly business that he’d been called away to.

He dressed himself, and then, using all his well-honed thieves’ skills, he snuck out the back door.

As he came around strolling casually past the front of the house, he saw Mrs. McCarthy peering through the front windows.

Flambeau was puzzled. Shouldn’t the parish secretary, of all people, know the whereabouts of the parish priest?

Flambeau nonchalantly sauntered up behind her.

“Mrs. McCarthy,” he said, both slightly amused and slightly guilty to see her jump a little.

“Fla- Mr. Thomas,” she said, just barely remembering to use the assumed name Flambeau had taken while he laid low in Kembleford. Suspiciously, she said, “I don’t suppose you know where Father Brown has gone off to.”

“Is he not home?” Flambeau asked, feigning innocence.

“He called me before dawn this morning asking me to post a notice that confessions are cancelled today! I thought he might have taken ill so I came by to see if there was anything I could do for him but he isn’t answering the door!”

“Well, I haven’t seen him all day,” Flambeau said truthfully. He had a nagging worry, all of a sudden, though he tried to keep it off his face. The priest had a habit of getting into trouble, after all.

It seemed Mrs. McCarthy was having the same thought. “You don’t suppose something might have happened?”

Flambeau put several pieces of a plan together at once. One, he knew that Father Brown was not at home, but Mrs. McCarthy didn’t. Two, once inside, Mrs. McCarthy’s natural instinct to snoop would be difficult to suppress. Three, Mrs. McCarthy knew Father Brown’s habits better than anyone. If anyone was going to spot some clue that would tell them where the Father had gone, it was her.

“Maybe he’s too ill to get to the door,” he said, making a visible show of worry.

“Oh,” Mrs. McCarthy said in horror, “well if that’s the case, he mustn’t be left alone.”

Flambeau already had his lockpicks on hand. “Step aside, please.”

“Are those…” Mrs. McCarthy trailed off, looking scandalized, but she made no further move to stop him. To the contrary, she stepped aside and gave him a little nod.

Within seconds Flambeau was back inside, Mrs. McCarthy at his heels.

Flambeau went through the motions of checking the bedroom first, despite knowing for an absolute fact that he wasn’t in there. He went in first, and when he told Mrs. McCarthy the room was empty, she ran in to investigate for herself.

From there, the plan worked perfectly. Mrs. McCarthy and Flambeau split up to search the house. They combed every room, checked the tables and counters for anything out of place, or perhaps even a note. They found nothing.

“Well,” Mrs. McCarthy said, coming into the kitchen where Flambeau was already sitting in defeat, “his bicycle is gone.” 

“The bicycle,” Flambeau said with a sigh. “We should have checked that first.”

“He could be anywhere!”

“He can’t have gone too far,” Flambeau pointed out. “He was here this morning.” He saw Mrs. McCarthy’s confused look and quickly added, “he probably called you from here, correct? Besides, I saw him here last night.”

“Last night? Did he say anything?” she asked. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No,” Flambeau lied, feeling his stomach sink. Had he said or done something wrong last night? 

He tried to think back. They had both been drinking, but certainly neither one of them was drunk. Bolstered by liquid courage, Flambeau had confessed his feelings. From there…

Flambeau would describe the Father’s reaction as “nervous enthusiasm.” And then...

Well, if Flambeau couldn’t show a good time to a celibate priest then he was really losing his touch.

But at some point afterwards, had Father Brown had a crisis of conscience? A sudden surge of Catholic guilt? 

Well, he was a reasonable man, and if he needed some space to clear his head, Flambeau could understand that.

“Mrs. McCarthy,” he said, “I can wait here and see if he comes back on his own. I’ll call you the minute I hear anything. On the way you can stop by the police station and ask them to keep an eye out.”

Mrs. McCarthy looked like she had half a mind to argue, and for a second Flambeau was sure she would, but after a moment’s pause she agreed.

Sitting alone in the empty house, Flambeau almost wished she hadn’t.

xxx

Father Brown said his rosary on the train. At the station, he retrieved his bike and went straight home, thinking that even if Flambeau hadn’t stuck around, it would at least give him a chance to change into his cassock.

He was not particularly surprised to find the door unlocked when he got there, or to find Flambeau inside with his feet on the table and a copy of the Bible open in front of him.

“There you are,” Flambeau said. “You had Mrs. McCarthy worried sick. I’ll have to call and tell her you’re all right.”

“Ah, yes,” Father Brown said. 

“You know,” Flambeau said, holding up the Bible, “I always thought this book was supposed to have all the answers to life’s questions. I fail to see how men with ‘genitals like those of donkeys and emissions like those of horses’ is meant to be spiritually enlightening. Exciting, certainly…”

“Stop,” Father Brown said, “please, just stop.”

Flambeau’s face fell. “I’m sorry, it was in poor taste-”

“You’ve proven your point,” Father Brown said miserably, “so you can stop gloating now.”

“Point? What point?”

Father Brown was determined to have his say without getting derailed. He looked down slightly so that he couldn’t see Flambeau’s face and began to talk quickly. “I made a mistake last night,” he said. “It obviously isn’t going to happen again. I’m sure you think me a horrible old hypocrite and a thousand other things besides, but-”

“I-”

“I only hope I haven’t caused irreparable damage. I’d thought that we were making some progress.” 

He had to stop then. He was getting choked up. He started blinking, trying to clear his eyes.

He felt a touch at his elbow, and he was being guided to the sofa.

“Slow down,” Flambeau said. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to be toyed with,” Father Brown said. “Not like that. I can’t ignore how I feel.”

Flambeau’s hand withdrew from his shoulder, and he looked up. Flambeau looked absolutely stricken.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asked. “You think I slept with you as part of some game?”

Flambeau sounded angry. Hurt, even. Father Brown suddenly realized that he had made a terrible misstep, but he could only wait helplessly while Flambeau said his piece.

“I was worried about you. I thought you might have gotten hurt or kidnapped or whatever other dozens of horrible things seem to happen to you every other day. But instead, you were off crafting elaborate conspiracies about me?” Flambeau stood, pacing a few steps away from the couch.

“Wait,” said Father Brown. “Then, why did you..?”

“Why did I sleep with you?” Flambeau hissed. “Because I thought I loved you. But now I’m not so sure.”

He stalked out the door before Father Brown could even get up from the couch.

xxx

Flambeau had scarcely walked down the street when he heard the telltale whirring of a bicycle behind him.

“Go away,” Flambeau said, not even looking. He wanted to lash out and yell, but it wouldn’t help things to make a scene.

Father Brown pulled up beside him, pedalling slowly to keep pace. “Please come back and talk.”

“Why? You can insult me right here.”

“Because I’m about to start saying things that could get me arrested,” Father Brown said as quietly as he could while trying to keep his bike steady, “and I would really prefer not to.”

Flambeau wanted to relent, but his pride kept him walking resolutely forward. “I thought you were different,” he said.

Father Brown stopped pedalling for a moment before quickly catching back up. “Please, just let me explain myself and apologize. Afterwards, if you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Flambeau sighed. He stopped. He turned and started walking back the way he’d come.

Father Brown hopped off the bike and walked alongside him. By the time they’d reached the house, Flambeau felt calmer. He didn’t know if it was from the walk, or the priest’s presence.

“Sit down,” Father Brown said, showing Flambeau in. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”

“You English and your tea,” Flambeau said halfheartedly as he took a place at the kitchen table.

Father Brown joined him shortly.

“I have been extremely foolish today,” he began, “and I owe you an apology.” 

“It’s a start,” Flambeau said.

“I’ve never been intimate with someone before,” Father Brown said, “and I suppose being out of my element frightened me. I couldn’t imagine why a handsome, wealthy, brilliant man would be interested in-”

“In a genius? A saint?”

Father Brown smiled his endearing little self deprecating smile. “In an old fool who can’t see something good when it’s right in front of him.”

“You know what made me so angry?” Flambeau said. His chest felt tight. “You were the only one who ever acted like I might be worth saving. I didn’t want that to be a lie.”

A look came across Father Brown’s face that was immeasurably sad. “It’s not a lie,” he said. “You are the most extraordinary person I have ever met. What scared me the most was thinking that I might lose you.”

“Come here,” Flambeau said, standing and coming around the kitchen table. Father Brown rose to meet him, and Flambeau caught the priest in a soft, firm kiss.

The teakettle began to whistle.

xxx

The next morning, Father Brown made breakfast while Flambeau slept. He left a plate on the stove to keep warm and woke Flambeau to tell him that he would be leaving for Mass. Flambeau kissed him goodbye.

Father Brown got to church early, apologizing profusely to Mrs. McCarthy for the worry he’d caused. It was a private matter, seal of the confessional and all, but everything had been sorted out. 

Like every Sunday, he donned his vestments with the help of his altar boys and, to the music of a dusty and slightly out of tune organ, he walked down the aisle, past the rows of pairitioners. He wondered idly what they might think of him if they knew how he had spent the last forty-eight hours, but strangely, the thought didn’t bother him too much. The Church had decried Galileo and Darwin, but the truth was the truth, and the truth was that Father Brown’s love for Flambeau didn’t call for repentance.

He went through the opening steps of the mass with a new reverence. God had given him a gift, and he didn’t know that he could ever repay it.

And as he turned to face the congregation, there was Flambeau, sitting in the back row.

**Author's Note:**

> I never got a chance to bring it up, but Flambeau's alias is Paul Thomas. A persecutor turned missionary and a skeptic turned apostle. He thought Father Brown would think it was funny.
> 
> Thanks for the idea, Erin. I hope this is even remotely what you had in mind.


End file.
